A Love by Any Measure (18 page)

Owen rose, picking up Maeve’s knickers from the floor and throwing them at her with a sigh. “Go to him. Tell him that I know what he did, so that he knows I’ll strike him down dead in the street if ever he even dares speak to you again.”

She surrendered. It was an escape from the horrid situation she had created. And it was better than she deserved. She knew better than to argue.

What had she lost, after all? August had never been hers.

“All right, Owen. I will.”

The Cracking Mirror

I
t was night when Maeve reached Middle Lake. Westward wind nipped her ankles, blowing under her skirt and through her, making her skin numb. But the pain. The horrible, twisting pain for what she had just done and for what she was about to do … The wind couldn’t numb her far enough down to rid her of that.

Shepherd’s Bluff stood cloaked in darkness, every window empty of light. For a moment she hoped he wasn’t home, but her instincts told her better. Almost like the Almighty was still toying with her, she found the servant’s door unlocked. In the silence of the night, she allowed her feet to carry her through the kitchen and up the stairs to August’s door. Looking left and right, relief filled Maeve when the halls were empty. It was past eight; the staff would be in the servants’ wing, Caroline would be in her room, and August would be …

Well, she didn’t rightly know. The realization made her cognizant of just how little she knew of this man she had nearly destroyed her life over. During the time she had stayed at Shepherd’s Bluff, if August was not in his study, and if he was not sleeping, then he somehow found a way to be with her. Never alone, of course; he had been cautious always to have someone else with them.

Goodness, had she really been so blind? Even as a host, the efforts he expended to spend time with her now seemed extreme in retrospect. When she was in a quandary, he sought to ease her. When she was in pain, he made means to comfort. When she was happy, it was nearly always because he was around. He loved her. It hadn’t come from nowhere; it had been building for weeks, months maybe.

Slowly, she clenched her fist and raised it to the door. With a deep sigh, she rapped twice.

“Go away, Caroline.”

Trembling, Maeve took the latch in her hand and pushed. August sat in his chair by the hearth, staring into the fire, his head held on the points of his fingertips.

“I’ve told you, I don’t wish to discuss it anymore. We set out for Cork on the morrow.”

Maeve gasped. “You’re leaving?”

August shot out of his seat. For a moment, he lingered by the chair, assessing her from afar.

“August, I … I came to say … ”

“I love you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I know.”

Maeve studied the fire in the silence, and August studied Maeve. Without the clock measuring their visit, each moment became timeless. Finally, Maeve turned toward the door.

“Owen knows,” she said simply, little trace of regret in her tone. It was what it was. “You needn’t leave. We’ll go. Our lives our simpler than yours; it will be easier for us. I don’t think Owen will tell anyone. That is, I’m pretty certain.”

“I’m not leaving because of you, I have to … I have business in Norwich which requires my attention.”

Her shoulders dropped, thinking herself foolish for supposing everything August did was her cause. “Oh well, all the same.”

“Come with me.”

“Do not mock me.”

He smiled and crossed the room, taking her in his arms though her body remained stiff beneath his embrace.

“I’m not jesting. I supposed you regretted what we’d done, given the way you acted the next morning. But now, you’re here. You’re here, and I can see in your eyes how much you’re hurting, trying to tell me good bye. You love me, Maeve, and you know I love you. I need you. Come. Come with me to Norwich.”

“To be your whore?”

“To be my lover.”

She scoffed, trying to free herself from his hold. “I’m going to be Owen’s wife. Wife. I cannot live in shame and sin.”

“No, but you’ll live in regret and despair,” August stated, releasing her. “What can he give you that I cannot? Moreover, can he give you anything the likes that I can? In Norwich, you’ll have fine clothes and furnishings, servants to wait on you, comforts beyond your imagination.”

“And be a social outcast and branded sinner. For certain, Owen can’t give me castles and gowns and diamonds, but with him, I can hold my head high when I walk down the street. Remember, I wanted it all. You can’t give that to me. Not here. Not in Norwich. Not anywhere.”

Grabbing Maeve’s arm, August spun her around. “He can’t give you it all, either.”

“Meaning?”

With a knowing smirk, August declared, “You don’t love him. How can he possibly make you happy?”

“Happiness in marriage? Do you know how rare that is?”

Again, he grinned. “Your parents had it.”

“And your parents did not.”

He released her and sunk back, his smile faltering.

Maeve huffed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say something so cruel. Let’s just make an end of it. I must go. He’s waiting for me.”

“Guinevere, Maeve.”

“What?”

Looking up, his eyes brimming with tears, August locked his gaze to hers. In that moment, he looked ever so the boy she had played with years before, innocent and trusting and hers.

“Guinevere loved Lancelot, but she kept her marriage vows to Arthur, and it ended up destroying everyone involved. It was only after years of the pain, emptiness, and torture that Guinevere realized it didn’t matter how closely she kept to her duties, she would never be complete without Lancelot. You’ll never be complete without me, and I … I never can serve my conscious knowing that I let you slip through my fingers.”

She found her hand in his as he raised it to his lips. Her knees were shaking as she looked into his eyes and saw the veracity of every word. How dare he use their childhood comforts at this moment. How dare he twist her heart, wringing from it the truth which flowed in the weight of his gaze.

“I have to go.”

“But be back before morning, darling. Our coach comes at dawn.”

Owen’s teeth gnashed. In a harsh tone that sounded like he was invoking a curse, he hissed, “Grayson.”

Maeve saw no point in denying it. “He is returning to England, and has asked … ” Her voice cracked as the airiness dried her throat. She swallowed hard, trying to make her voice audible. “I will go with him. I love him.”

Owen’s countenance shifted yet again, consumed with devastation. Somehow, in this small room, they all had become something bigger. Owen was Ireland, August was England, and Maeve the horrid reality between the two. Her last piece of courage nearly broke as a tear rolled down Owen’s cheek and he fell to his knees, his body shuddering from the pressure of withholding his sobs.

“Does my love mean nothing to you, then?”

Maeve looked away and raised her hand to her mouth, biting her finger to feel a physical manifestation and some measure of what her heart was being forced to endure.

Some time passed, neither speaking, until at last in a voice filled with grief and sorrow, Owen asked, “Will you marry him?”

She shook her head in denial. She loved August, of that there was no doubt. But Maeve also had no doubt that while words could move hearts and pledges change fate, an official union between she and August could never be.

Owen let out another unsteady sigh. “Does he love you?”

She nodded, holding back her own tears. “He has told me so. I think … ” Her mind traced back their history, even back to their youth. “I think he always has.”

“Good,” Owen concluded. Maeve’s head cocked into a curious pose. He gave her a half smile and rose shakily to his feet. “You’re about to go through hell, and I’m sorry there’s nothing to be done for it. Take comfort in each other, because you sure won’t find it anywhere else.”

Three steps brought them face to face again. In a way most gentle and sincere, Owen leaned in and kissed her forehead. Maeve’s eyes fluttered closed, and she felt unable at last to hold back the rain of tears that had threatened.

“I do love you, Maeve,” he whispered as he leaned his forehead into hers. “Change your mind, I will not hesitate. Pure as snow or black as night, I’ll always be yours.”

“Take care of Da, Owen.” How could she face him, tell him of what was to become of her? Running off to England to be the kept woman of the man who had destroyed the home her mother, his wife, had birthed her and died in? She wouldn’t insult him by appearing to look for acceptance where none would be found. “August will … I will send money. Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him … it is my place.”

She felt numb as she closed the flat door. Pressing on, Maeve caught sight nearby of a familiar carriage. Its presence did not surprise her. She suspected he might follow. She knew he wouldn’t risk letting her go so easily.

As August reached out, offering his hand, Maeve also heard the anguished cries in desperation from the building behind her. She collapsed, August barely snatching her arms before she fell like a dog into the street.

With a shimmy and shift, the horses neighed and the carriage pulled away, closing out Maeve’s old life. August’s arm circled around her as the carriage passed the gates of the cemetery. He drew her close as her tears came on now in full force and without damper. August leaned over and kissed the top of Maeve’s head, smoothing her sticky, dampened hair.

“Time will see this right,” he muttered, kissing her once again. “Maeve, this will come to pass. Everything will be set right.”

As they rolled out of Killarney, Maeve looked up into August’s loving gaze. His comforting smile brought the tears under control.

“Please, tell me I’ve not just doomed my soul for nothing. I have just forever branded myself a Jezebel in the eyes of all Killarney,” she said. “If I’m to burn in hellfire for this, so be it, but let your love burn twice as hot until then. Tell me it’s not in vain. Tell me you love me, and will love me forever.”

Now, he turned his frame and placed both his hands on her cheeks, pulling her toward him and kissing her chastely.

“I swear to you, Maeve O’Connor, I love you, and I will do everything in my power to make you happy and comfort you. I will always treasure you, and I will never leave your side.”

She smiled up to him, feeling no doubt in the honesty and sincerity of his pledge. “I love you, August, and always shall. I swear, I will be yours forever.”

To England

E
ven as the ample sun tried to warm Caroline’s skin, the wind whipped over the surface of the water and hit the side of the boat like a sheet of ice. She pulled her coat tighter, nudged her hat down over her ears. Jefferson, wanting to be ever the protector, even from the forces of nature, wrapped his arms around her from behind and pulled her into his chest.

“We should get you below deck,” he whispered into her ear. “Your cheeks are whiter than June lilies.”

Caroline smiled. The care and love evident in his words warmed her more than all the layers of clothing.

“At least up here I can warm in the sunlight,” she replied. “Please do not misunderstand my concern, but why again did you and August feel it so necessary to return to England now, when we do not wed until spring?”

Jefferson had been quite insistent on taking up residence in Norwich post haste, though his reasoning failed to inform. Barely four months had passed since the day they had first chanced upon each other in the Killarney market. That they would be wed soon contented her, so she felt no temptation to chance his ire to learn his true motivation.

August had been only too eager to give his blessing when Jefferson asked. The transformation in her brother surprised Caroline to no end. She had fretted that August would demand a proper society pairing, perhaps with a duke or an earl, if one should have become available, but Jefferson had no aristocratic lineage on which to stand. All he had was a heart full of devotion and tenderness. Miraculously, that had proven enough in August’s eyes.

When Caroline had learned, however, what had happened between Maeve and August, it all made more sense.

“You miss England,” Jefferson noted in brief, which indeed was true, then added teasingly, “True, Mrs. Schand?”

The flutter of Caroline’s heart dulled quickly when she looked aft and saw poor Maeve, green-faced and lacking sea legs. The ship had listed starboard and port for hours since leaving from Cork. A fortnight stay in the port city had given August enough time to finish the business of the family’s holdings via courier to Woodrow, and gave Maeve chance to stock up on clothing, none of which she seemed to have brought with her from Killarney.

August was at her side, continuing his attempts to ease her, plying her with tea and warm blankets. Neither had seemed to help much.

Excusing herself from Jefferson’s company, Caroline crossed deck. August cast his sister a desperate plea with his eyes. Maeve was half slung over the side of the ship, between bouts of retching. August had his arm securely hooked around her waist, keeping her from falling overboard.

“Caroline,” he said in a broken tone, “what to do? Perhaps we should have booked passage to Southampton and made the rest of the way by land?”

Caroline sat by Maeve, wrapping her arm about her and coaxing her back. August drew the half-filled mug of now cold tea to her lips. Maeve sniffed it once and looked as though she might need to return to hanging over the side.

“What is that?” Caroline asked, nodding at the mug.

“Earl Grey.”

One of the porters chanced by, and Caroline called to him. “Sir, is there any other tea aboard? Chamomile, perhaps?”

He nodded his head vigorously and answered in thick Cockney tones. “I b’lieve so, ma’am. I think the Capt’s gotta stash a’mint in ‘is pantry.”

Caroline smiled warmly, and the gesture was quickly reflected in the young man’s face.

“Would you be so kind as to take our companion below deck, allow her to lay down a bit, and ask the Captain if she might have a bit of his mint tea?”

Maeve looked up and gave a slight grimace.

“Ah coors, ma’am. Up ya go now, lass!”

Taking both of Maeve’s hands, he yanked, turning soon thereafter and draping her arm over his shoulders. August eyed her with great concern as the pair disappeared below deck, before sighing deeply. Caroline felt a pang of guilt for the question she knew she must ask.

Deciding the best route was a direct one, she looked at August squarely and laid it out.

“Is she ill because she is with child?”

August rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Heavens no.”

“Don’t disparage me for asking.” She shifted about. “You may not have reason to believe so of your dear little sister, but I am not wholly without knowledge of the goings on between men and women.” She glanced to Jefferson across the deck, giving him a smile and a wave. “The walls at the inn in Cork may have been thick, but some portion of your caterwauling came through.”

August looked maliciously at Jefferson for a moment before his expression softened.

“Fine. Yes, Maeve and I are well known to each other. But no, she is not with child. There was evidence before we left Cork.”

“What if that should change?” Caroline returned flatly. “What if you discover at some time in the future she is with child? What would you do then?”

The corner of his mouth curled, breaking finally into a full, brimming smile. “I would love them both with a passion not befitting the bounds of this earth. I would love them beyond my mortal coil, and even beyond death itself.”

Angling her eyes, her expression begged suggestion. “This is how you would love your child?”

Confusion passed before understanding swallowed his features. “I see what you’re driving at.”

“It is an interesting situation in which you find yourself, August,” she continued, laying a hand on his knee. “I cannot say I envy you. I have been curious since you announced that Maeve would accompany us to Norwich if you had discussed with her what she is likely to find there.”

August grumbled beneath his breath. “The topic has not yet arisen.”

Caroline said nothing further, but gave him a stern look not unlike that of a disappointed mother at her petulant child. He squirmed under the intensity of his sister’s gaze. With a huff, August rose to his feet, took off his gloves, first left then right, and slapped the leather over his hand.

“Fine, yes,” he conceded. “I will talk with her.”

At August’s exit below deck, Jefferson made way to Caroline again. He pulled her beside him, tracing the outer edge of her earlobe that poked out from under her hat with his fingertip.

“Problems, my peach?”

She grinned, feeling the comfort of his embrace. “August has told Maeve nothing of Norwich.”

“Noth … Nothing at all?”

Jefferson’s wide eyes told Caroline that he was just as disappointed and surprised as she.

“When does he intend to tell her? We’ll be there in only a few hours.”

“I hope he’s telling her now, though poor dear. She’s so sick. Nevertheless, he’s assured me that she isn’t expecting.”

“Well, that is a blessing,” Jefferson concurred. He leaned over and kissed Caroline’s forehead. “Don’t fret, angel. Somehow, all this will find a way to work out. I know it seems impossible now, but just give it time.”

Caroline had seen enough of the way love filled the room whenever August and Maeve were together the last few weeks and, if she thought back further, in those days when Maeve had stayed to Shepherd’s Bluff, to know that Jefferson was right. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that this could never be. On Maeve’s side, she had been ostracized in Ireland. She had tried to send word to her father in Killarney. He refused to acknowledge her. August and Caroline had already lost both mother and father, but they would certainly be subjected to the same level of public scrutiny once back at Norwich, and Maeve would be burned by it as well, no doubt. Even if she loved August one-tenth the amount he loved her, Caroline didn’t know how much more Maeve could endure in the pursuit of that love.

She sighed and relaxed deeper into Jefferson’s hold. “I hope you are right. Still, I cannot fathom how August plans to balance the two.”